Madness
by sjsjtd2007
Summary: Francois attempt to tame Oliver's (title drop) Maddness


Blood spilled onto the floor and the once sharp eyes of the Canadian went dull and void. A gut-wrenching smile went across the small man's face as he lifted his blade again. The opened wound shot more plasma out and splattered over both of their faces. Red stained the boy's blonde hair and it caked over the sunglasses he had been wearing before the attack.

The once pinkish hair of the Englishman was now a dark crimson. His pale blue eyes had a hint of purple creeping about the edges.

Although the Canadian was long gone, the man shoved the knife into his chest again.

And again.

Then another time.

There was a pool surrounding the two, and finally after mercilessly stabbing the corpse with wild thrashes, Oliver gasped. He had gotten weary and his arms had grown tired from thrusting his knife in and out of the young boy's chest.

After what felt like an eternity, Oliver caught his breath and the purple edge in his irises started to fade. His sanity was returning and his vision went from only seeing red… to seeing red. Nothing had any colour left.

He blinked and looked at what he'd done. The knife was still buried in the boy's body and he could feel the smile one his face slowly fading.

"M-Mattie?"

Of course, there was no response.

"No, Mattie," he gasped and brought his hands to his face. He stooped to look at them. They were covered with blood that wasn't his. "No, no not you," he sobbed. Tears fell down his face, streaking through the blood. "Anyone but you," he cried. He took the Canadian's lifeless face into his shaky hands. "Mattie, no! Not my Mattie! No!" He let out a tortured wail.

"What have I done," he gasped listlessly. He'd gone too far. He had snapped and hurt someone close to him. He leaned over the mangled body and wrapped the mess into his arms, sobbing loudly.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and shake him violently.

"Get up!"

Oliver gasped loudly and sat up. Everything was dark and he felt someone holding him. His heart pounded in his chest and he could hardly focus.

"Oliver, snap out of it!"

There was a loud thud. "What the actual fuck, Ollie? You woke me out of a really good dream, damn it!"

As if by instinct, Oliver numbly said, "Swear jar…"

He suddenly realized he was hearing Francois and Allen. Allen, of course, was the angry one.

He looked up into Francois' eyes wearily and said, "Where's Mattie?"

Allen growled and rolled his eyes. "In bed. I mean, how the fuck did he sleep through your screaming?"

"Swear jar."

"You know what-"

Francois snapped, "Enough. Shut the fuck up and go to bed."

"But-"

"Now."

Oliver was numbly climbing out of bed and wiggling away from the Frenchman's grasp. Before he could ask what he was doing, Oliver had slipped out of the door and was going down the hall. He got to the door at the end tat had a large sign on it that said "Moose Crossing" on it. He turned the knob and it opened with a light creak.

He rushed into the room, not thinking and ran his stomach into a cold metal rod. He yelped and backed away from the rod, not seeing exactly what it was at first.

There was a soft click, then a gruff voice said, "Back off."

After a moment of processing, Oliver realized that Matt was holding a gun to him. Either he'd crept into his nightmares or he hadn't seen ho had just barged in.

"Mattie," he whimpered.

"Shit, Ollie?" He lowered the gun then cursed himself and waited for the routine 'Swear jar' line.

Instead, he felt Oliver throw his skinny arms around his neck.

"Whoa, you okay," he asked softly. Oliver was one to over react, but tonight seemed different. Oliver seemed desperate and his arms seemed to create a vice grip around him.

The Englishman simply buried his face and let out a soft sigh. He pressed closely to the young man, glad to have him in one piece.

"I take it you had a nightmare?" Oliver nodded. "Well, your scream seemed to wake the dead. By that, I mean Allen." He tried offering a chuckle, hoping his attempts at humour would make the small man laugh as well.

He had no such luck, for the tight grip never relaxed.

Finally, hoping to calm him down, Matt put an arm around him. "Hey, I ain't goin' anywhere. "

"Good," Oliver choked out.

"C'mon, man. You need to get some sleep, alright?" He gently pushed Oliver back and they sat on the floor facing each other. "One of us has a long day tomorrow."

"I'm sorry," he said weepily, using his sleeve to get rid of the tears that escaped his eyes.

"Don't be," he said and offered a smile. "Now get some sleep." He stood up and went to his bed. The Canadian sat on the edge and yawned.

Oliver sat on the floor for a moment, then sighed and stood. "Good night, poppet."

Matt waved slightly as the shorter man exited the room and closed the door. He sighed heavily and leaned against the wall.

He finally gained the motivation to venture back to his room where the Frenchman was sitting on his bed, waiting.

Oliver carefully closed the door behind himself.

"This is the fourth night in a row," Francois said quietly.

Oliver, who was normally a bubble of sunshine was looking rather depressed and worn. His age seemed to mark his face more than it ever had in years. "I woke the boys," he muttered.

"You did," he said, and then asked, "Matt?"

Oliver shivered and tried to hold back another fit of tears. "It was awful…"

Francois sighed. "Look, it's best if we settle this in the morning, Oliver."

Shoulders slumped and head bowed, the Englishman nodded sadly. "I'm sorry that I woke you."

"Not like it's you fault," he said, standing up. He went to the door and left. He wasn't a man of many words, usually.

"We need to fuckin' talk about it, Frenchie."

Three members of the family had gotten up early just to have this discussion. It was something that had to be set out on the table before the last member woke. They'd made a fresh brew of coffee and stood around the kitchen.

Francois tapped his cigarette and snapped, "About what?"

"Don't play fucking dumb," Allen snapped. "This is the fourth fucking night in a row and old lumberjack never hears shit. You know what though? I do! What's up with Sparkles and Glitter?"

The Frenchman pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "I don't know."

"Bullshit."

"I'm telling the truth," he growled.

"What? You've known him for his whole life and this has never happened," Allen demanded.

Francois sat in silence for a long moment and shook his head finally. "No," he said.

Allen blinked and stared at the older man in confusion. He was just as confused as everyone else, and possibly just as confused as Oliver.

"So… who died in his dream?"

"Matt."

The Canadian, who'd been silent for the entire conversation said, "Just last night?"

There was a small pause.

"Wait," Matt said, sounding strained. "He doesn't dream about anyone else but me?"

Francois looked at him numbly. "That's correct."

"What are you all talking about?"

The Canadian fell to his knees and gasped out in pain. It was as if no matter how many times he wailed on the Englishman, he would simply get back up without skipping a beat.

Rather, he seemed to skit to a beat that was playing in his head. It was a tune that was along the lines of "I Can't Decide" or it was the song "Bodies". Matt wasn't sure and he didn't really want to find out.

That purple edge was in the man's eyes and although he'd never seen it before, he instinctively knew not to be near him when he did see it.

He started to scramble to his feet in an attempt to escape, but he felt something crash against him and knock him to the floor.

Oliver yanked him around to face him.

The Canadian stared at the madman, who was smiling wickedly.

There was a knife in his hand and horrible intentions were seared into his wild eyes.

"O-Ollie…" He never got too nervous, but seeing his former caretaker staring down at him with those eyes made his stomach twist in fear. He swallowed hard and clenched his jaw tightly. "Oliver," he said in a strained tone.

"He he he…"

"This isn't funny," Matt choked, holding back tears. For as hard set as he was, Matt could help but feel tears sting at the sides of his eyes. Oliver loved his family. Why was he doing this? "Oliver, please…"

The colourful man's mind was made up, though. He lifted the knife with two hands on the hilt and laughed awkwardly. That sick smile was still planted on his face. The knife came down and buried into the Canadian's chest.

The boy cried in pain and grabbed Oliver's arms, trying to keep him from yanking the blade out.

Unfortunately for the Canadian, Oliver was much stranger than he let on.

He yanked the blade out and blood poured out, seeping through the flannel fabric and dripping around his chest. He gagged and cried out. "Fuck!"

Laughing maniacally, Oliver said, "Swear jar!" He cried out joyously and shoved the knife back into place with brute force.

Like before, the small man was stabbing the boy over and over again without any mercy.

He watched the light go out in the mauled Canadian's eyes. Blood stained the floor around them.

He panted as he always had in these sick dreams and buried the knife into him one last time. He panted and stared at the boy's face.

"Oh my God…"

He blinked. That wasn't his voice.

"Oliver… God, no!"

He blinked again. He swore it was Matt's voice. Was he trying to wake him this time? He shook his head and colours danced in his blackened vision. He blinked and looked around him. Francois was standing still with a look of horror on his face. He looked beaten up and sore. To his left stood the Canadian he thought he'd just unconsciously mauled.

"Wh…" Oliver looked at the two completely confused. "Mattie, you're head…"

There was a line of blood going down his horror stricken face.

Oliver frowned and stared at them. They weren't moving. Francois, who had always been a sort of balance keeper, was staring at him like he'd seen the devil.

In a sense, he had.

The Canadian was shaking and his face started twisting into grief.

Oliver finally looked down.

When he did, his heart fell from his chest and down into his stomach. Reality set in and it couldn't be any more terrifying.

His blurred memory snapped into perfect focus.

He walked into the kitchen and saw the three people he held dearly, and then offered to make breakfast when they stared at him in silence.

There was a knife resting on the counter. He looked at it for what felt like years and for some unknown reason he grabbed it aggressively.

The first to act was Francois. He put up a good fight, but he only narrowly avoided being sliced up by the knife that was being lashed about. They went into a stand still with their hands locked in a battle of strength.

Matt ran up to try and stop them and snap Oliver out of it, but he got knocked over when Oliver buckled under Francois and head-butted the Frenchman. Francois, who was stumbling back, hit Matt, and the boy's head connected with the edge f the counter, knocking him out cold.

Allen met Oliver's eyes then, and his fate was sealed.

The entire time, Oliver was smiling.

"Allen…?"

The Canadian fell to his knees, sobbing. He and his brother would often fight and beat on each other. They'd shout and threaten each other, but they both had something they'd never admit.

They had a deep, mutual brotherly love. Matt sobbed so hard that he could just barely catch his breath.

Oliver's arms had dropped to his sides and Francois had taken this chance to grab ahold of the small man. He yanked him to his feet and pulled him away from the massacre.

Numbness fell over the crimson coloured Englishman. His underling… his little Al… He didn't even blink.

When Francois moved him, he complied without any struggle, even when he was tied in make shift restraints.

"YOU FUCKER," Matt shrieked, buckled over in agony.

Allen was gone.

Allen was gone and the FACE family was as well.

Allen was gone… and for the first time ever, Oliver didn't even think to say, "Swear jar".


End file.
